Istanbul? Yeah, it's a long story...

Remember those flights from Istanbul to KL that we didn't take two years ago? Well, they were still owed to us. So last month we thought, why don't we fly to Istanbul (alas, the interesting train journey we were going to do back then still didn't seem appropriate this year), spend a few weeks there (low-key, unambitious, unhurried), and then take our recouped flights home?

Then we were struck down by Nigel's head, and everything seemed up for grabs again... But after the latest hospital saga, when he was cleared to fly, and told to give things another two weeks, we decided to press on with the Turkey plan, and just keep monitoring things week by week. If he worsens, or stops getting better, then we'll head home earlier than originally envisaged.

So that's the why. Read on for the how.

Saturday (West Hallam to Heathrow) went pretty well. Highlights:

-- Successfully wrangling all our belongings into their respective travelling containers. No small feat, as we have more than we came with, and clothes, after spending a month lounging around in drawers, get very uppety, and have to be firmly squashed back into submission. We're looking forward to the days when we can again follow our minimalist backpacking practice.

-- Stopping, completely serendipitously, at Crick for a stroll and a coffee.















-- Eating lunch at the lovely picnic spot at Cotton End Park.




-- Avoiding the traffic queues. A potential lowlight that transformed itself into a highlight was that we missed one of the turnings advised by Ms Google Maps, but that actually meant we missed the jammy M1, and did a route that might have been a bit longer, but at least kept us moving. And by the time we got to the M25, the snarl-up we'd been hearing about for hours on Radio 2 had dissolved itself, in our direction anyway.

-- Successfully divesting ourselves of our little black hire car, which had been our uncomplaining companion since January.

-- Getting upgraded at the airport Sofitel, and feeling able, on account of the nice, big, airy space, to enjoy our complimentary glasses of wine. We'd promised ourselves a relaxing room-service dinner, but the room-service folks were obviously overwhelmed that evening, and no-one was answering the phone. So we did the short trot across to Terminal 5, hoovered up lots of yummy stuff from Marks & Spencer, and consumed it in our room with our feet up. Saved money, saved carbs. All good.


-- Not exactly a highlight, but a Good Thing, was the suggestion from British Airways that we checked our baggage in on Saturday, to avoid the anticipated holiday crowds on Sunday. This was such a relaxed experience that we spent ages with the talkative check-in clerk, who told us about the trials of his lockdown. Poor guy. The restrictions must have been purgatory for sociable folks like him.

Only one lowlight really, and that was when Ms Google Maps, supposedly guiding us to the Sofitel, mistook the level of the stacked road we were on, and corralled us into a car park. Which we then had to pay handsomely to get out of...

Yesterday, Sunday (Heathrow to Istanbul), got off to a great start with an excellent Sofitel breakfast, and the rest of it unfolded in a way that could have been a lot worse, given the holiday rush.

True, Heathrow was pretty crowded, with hardly anyone masked, and the masking requirement on board the aircraft was also pretty sloppily enforced -- so you do look forward to your next test with some trepidation. Equally, we were a little late setting off, as there'd been some difficulty (unspecified) over rounding up the cabin crew. True, too, was that BA forgot half our food order, and the flight attendant, having been shown the relevant receipt, then forgot half the other half. And even at the maskless best of times, the consumption of plane food is a bit of a pantomime, as you wrestle with obdurate packaging in a tightly confined space (who designs slippery milk containers that you have to RIP to open...?).

But there was nothing (provided we've escaped covid) to really cause any aggro.

Istanbul's airport (the new one, not the one we flew into and out of on our first visit back in 2016) was all decked out for Ramadan:




And by 18.30 Turkish time, we were outside our rental accommodation, watching one of Istanbul's many tribes of cats squabble over the contents of a large bin; smiling as a young kid stopped to feed some of them by tearing off lumps from the loaf he was carrying (what was his mum going to say when he brought it home all mangled?); registering that there were seagulls somewhere nearby; and wondering why it was so damn cold (much chillier than the recent balmy weather in the UK)...

The house is in the historic Balat district of Istanbul, and it's quirky and picturesque. According to the description, it's a "Rum" house, that is, it is associated with Istanbul's Greek Christian minority (the name derives from their ancestors, the Greek-speaking Eastern Romans, aka Byzantines).

There are five floors. The basement is used for storage, and is out of bounds. But we have the run of the other four. On the ground level you have the kitchen. The next floor up the spiral wooden staircase has the bedroom and bathrooms. Up again and you have a spacious living room and workspace. And at the top, there's the laundry room and terrace.

We definitely made up a little for the lack of walking yesterday as we scampered up and down the three flights, allocating stuff to the various rooms.

















We also popped out yesterday evening to buy tea and breakfast provisions (along with lots of other people, all shopping for their Ramadan fast-breaking meal). This is a neighbourhood of tiny shops, and we launched ourselves into the first we came across. Four apples, five tomatoes, four little cucumbers, eight eggs, a block of cheese, a tub of margarine (whoops, didn't read the label carefully enough), a big bottle of water, a carton of ayran (that Turkish yogurt drink that we love), and a carton of yogurt -- all came to about GBP 5... (This makes a welcome change for us, but actually the Turks are really struggling with inflation at the moment.)

Worn out by the exertions of the day, we went to bed.

And at what must have been about 2 am, we first became acquainted with one of Istanbul's famous Ramadan drummers, who patrol the streets to make sure people don't miss the opportunity for their last meal before daybreak... I didn't exactly welcome these attentions, but I must admit I found the syncopated rhythms very engaging.

After that, it seemed there was no rest. Rain dripping on our picturesque jutty-out bit; motorbikes puttering up the narrow street; babies crying; cats battling; someone clearing out the big bins opposite...

I'm not too concerned. I know how quickly you adjust to the local soundscape, and am fairly confident we won't hear any of this very soon. But bad nights often herald bad days, and sure enough today started out in a somewhat trying fashion.

The guy who let us in yesterday (a friend of the owner) had had a bit of a struggle with the boiler. A warning sign, it turned out. Today the boiler was as dead as a dodo, its drip bucket full to the brim. Then, in rapid succession, the dishwasher refused to function, and one of the toilets stopped working. Old house, you see. Charming but liable to go wrong. Like us...

Anyway, we notified the owner, and then headed on out (well rugged up, as it was cold and rainy this morning) to find some lira, and use them to do some more food shopping.

Even in these inauspicious circumstances, you can't deny how charming this area is. Narrow, steep streets; old houses, some wooden, many with jutty-out windows like ours; mosques large and small; venerable fountains...



We spent the rest of the day at home. We've had some excellent food (Turkey, as we rightly remembered, is also very good at cheese, and the vegetables here always seem super-tasty).

We rounded off the day's run of bad luck with a bit of a showdown with the washing machine (entirely our fault: my Turkish laundry vocabulary is not extensive, and it turns out that powder in the wrong hole produces impressive lava flows and major suds storms when it comes to rinse-and-spin time).

But by the evening, our house problems had been solved.

The young man from yesterday returned, did some poking and prodding, went away again, and came back a little later with the cavalry, in the shape of a Man With Tools, who very efficiently set the heating system and the cistern to rights. The young man also offered to call someone in to fix the dish washer, but we reckon we can easily survive without it. Most importantly, the boiler boils, and the toilet flushes, and all is right with the world.